


Take Me to the Seas ( and into your arms )

by ZammyShad



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, this is very long i love one (1) pirate and miqo'te
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29627415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZammyShad/pseuds/ZammyShad
Summary: “Z’ahzi,” the Miqo’te replies, smooth as silk yet Cent can note how it dies off into an airy sound, breathless and light. “Warrior of Light. Scion of the Seventh Dawn. Savior of -”“Eorzea.” Cent finishes, flashing a smirk as he straightens his spine, cocking his own eyebrow at the other, at Z’ahzi. “You have quite the record, Mr. Z’ahzi.”Another flash of heat, this time in the tan skin of his neck rather than his amber eyes. “As do you, Captain.”
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Original character, Warrior of Light/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 9





	Take Me to the Seas ( and into your arms )

It’s not every day you find a blonde Miqo’te waiting for you at the docks, the crystal clear blue skies above making way for the early morning sun as it beads across tanned skin. The stranger’s hair waves in the ocean-side breeze, his back straight as a white coat stretches near obscenely tight against broad shoulders and thickened muscle. Cent’s lips quirk upwards as he stands atop the deck of his ship, the sails above him cracking and snapping with the wind while the Miqo’te - his liaison, he supposes - places his hands behind his back, no doubt crossed at the wrists, formal and steady.

A soldier’s form; mercenary. Cent can only see the front of him, but the memory of his own royal guards is one hard to forget.

“Welcome, Captain,” the Miqo’te breathes, thick tail flicking idly at his side. “The admiral sends her regards to you and your crew.”

Ah, so he was right after all. 

What a pretty face for a diplomat.

“Aye,” Cent breathes, all bravado and swagger as he half-jumps the last distance between the dock and the ship’s boardwalk, feet planting themselves mere inches away from the other. If the white-coated Miqo’te is startled by it, he doesn’t show it, raising a thin brow towards the taller man as the ends of his coat billow forwards, snapping close enough to his legs that Cent can feel the gust of wind it leaves in its wake. “I could say the same to you, but it looks like you’re more than welcomed here in Limsa, eh? Be sure to tell the admiral our thanks for your gracious hospitality.”

“It’s not mine,” the Miqo’te speaks up, golden eyes flashing upwards to his own. Cent’s breath catches, just slightly, as if the spit in the back of his throat were too thick, cloying, choking. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to showing you. That is, if you can withstand my obligatory duties as liaison.”

Is that a proposition? The Miqo’te still stands at parade rest, face set sans for the heat flaring behind such gorgeous eyes. Tinted like gold, but bronzed at the edges, flecks of amber and hazel swirling closer to his slitted pupils. Dizzying, the smile that breaks along the edges of his face flares to life with all the confidence of a man who knows how to tame the seas, the stars, and yes, even the sun itself. 

“Well, then by all means, continue. _But_ -” Cent breathes, leaning closer, letting his lips barely brush the edge of the Miqo’te’s ear and huffing in fond amusement at the way it twitches. “I believe names are in order, don’t you think?”

“Z’ahzi,” the Miqo’te replies, smooth as silk yet Cent can note how it dies off into an airy sound, breathless and light. “Warrior of Light. Scion of the Seventh Dawn. Savior of -”

“Eorzea.” Cent finishes, flashing a smirk as he straightens his spine, cocking his own eyebrow at the other, at _Z’ahzi._ “You have quite the record, Mr. Z’ahzi.”

Another flash of heat, this time in the tan skin of his neck rather than his amber eyes. “As do you, Captain.”

The wink he sends his way makes butterflies flutter in his stomach. 

_Send his regards to the admiral, indeed,_ he thinks as Z’ahzi falls from his rigid stance, playful smile dancing across his features as he turns tail, gesturing to Cent and his own Limsan guards to follow, gaze staying fixed on Cent’s own over his shoulder before sliding forward, wrists once again crossing at the small of his back as he strides forward, ready to fulfill the duty asked of him.

She should know not to leave a pretty face with a pirate who’s been at sea for far too long.

* * *

“Well, Captain,” The Miqo’te says evenly, eyes warm and lips lax as boot-clad heels come to rest outside the inn. It’s evening now, the first touch of darkened skies making themselves known as the townspeople begin to light the lamps astride their homes. Cent forgets, sometimes, that while Limsa Lominsa remains a port and temporary harbor, it exists as home for most. A calm, gentle, and flourishing land. 

He wonders, briefly, if Z’ahzi considers this place home.

“This is where I take my leave. The admiral will see you off in the coming days, as she is currently away on business. You understand. The seas demand the most of its best.”

The breeze picks up, Z’ahzi’s blonde hair swaying with it as strands fall from his delicate braid, his plait. Ephemeral, he looks completely at ease in the face of a pirate known both for his actions at sea and otherwise. He blinks once, twice, tilting his scruffy, hair-laced chin upwards as if challenging Cent to say something, anything, as his hands remain, as ever, crossed at his back. Elegant, he stands refined and the very picture of a life Cent had done so much to escape from, to replace, to forget.

“Good night, Captain.” Z’ahzi’s goodbye shatters the moment, fantasy-like observations falling through his hands like grains of sand. The man before him turns to walk the cobblestone path to what, Cent presumes, would be his own quarters. Or perhaps, the local tavern, catching a bite to eat and a drink or two. What does one as famous as the Warrior of Light do when not accompanying pirates around the city? Would he consider staying, with him, for the night?

Just the night. _Only_ the night.

White coat-tails gently _fwrahp_ before him ( like the sails idly blowing in the sea air, catching drifts as their journey slows, ends, only to begin anew ) and Cent reaches out, snapped from whatever lull he’s allowed himself to fall into, and lets the broad spanse of his palm wrap securely around a tense arm, thumb and forefinger straining to meet against the hidden bulk of Z’ahzi’s form.

The Miqo’te pauses, muscle stiffening in his grasp. Yet Cent can hear the breath he takes, can feel the moment that tension drifts away, melts into something softer, more malleable, and the Warrior of Light turns, undisturbed, eyes hooded. 

Silence. 

No words, no sounds, just the backdrop of a normal, everyday Limsan night.

Their lips meet, nothing shy or timid in the press together. Instinct is shared between them, it seems, as Cent presses forward and Z’ahzi steps away, backing the both of them towards the stone-made wall. One step, two, and Cent parts the other’s lips with his tongue, delighting in the eager way Z’ahzi accepts the touch. A tilt to their heads, hands fisting at the cloth at two twin waists, and suddenly neither can stop, teeth clacking as flesh cracks and breaks, blood beading at the marks left behind and smearing between them. Z’ahzi’s back hits the wall with a solid push forward, the lantern swinging on its hinges as Cent’s hand leaves a burning trail against the Miqo’te’s chest, pinning him there as they breathe, spit-slicked and panting.

Z’ahzi’s hands slide upwards, pressing to the skin beneath Cent’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric in an effort to show more tantalizing pieces of skin, those golden eyes now lowered, submissive, and oozing more olive-tinged-citrine than the bright-mead colour from before. 

His hand, the free one not currently pressing the shorter man to the inn’s outer wall, snatches at his wrist, stopping the other’s exploration. “Inside,” Cent breathes, thumb rubbing at the jut of bone he can feel beneath the fingerless gauntlets. “I’d rather bed you like a gentleman, Mr. Z’ahzi.”

“ _Cent,_ ” and oh, the way his name sounds on spit-slick, swollen and bruised lips sounds better than any patron he’s had the pleasure of spending the night with. It sends pinpricks of heat curling low in his abdomen, setting a low flame that has throat working to swallow against a wavering groan. “We both know you’re anything but.”

A grin, dark eyes softening. “Then you don’t know as much as you think, dear.”

“Ahzi,” he breathes, swallowing. “Call me Ahzi.”

Cent barely hears him over the wind whipping past his ears as he all but pulls the willing Miqo’te inside, the inn’s wooden and heavy oaken door shutting behind them as the two make their way, breathless and giddy, to their room for the night.  
If anyone notices who they are, they certainly hide it well.

* * *

Two things Cent comes to realise as he gets Z’ahzi beneath him.

1\. The esteemed Warrior of Light isn’t as untouchable as one would think. There are scars across his sides, down his biceps, criss crossing at his hips. They’re faded, some jagged and some smooth, but with each press of his hands, each lave of his tongue, Z’ahzi’s ears flatten atop his head, a far away look to his eyes.

2\. Z’ahzi doesn’t like to wait.

“Cent,” the Miqo’te breathes, a flex of his hips beneath the pirate’s hands signaling his half-aborted thrust, long strands of blonde hair halo-ing around his head. “Cent, c’mon, enough already.”

_Enough_ doesn’t begin to describe it, the mottled bruises from his teeth and tongue decorating Z’ahzi’s skin nothing but the tip of the iceberg. The lights in the inn room are low, the windows shut and curtained to avoid unwanted glances, yet still the other’s skin gleams with sweat, golden eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from greedy kisses. Cent likes to take his time, likes to pull apart each and every one of his partner’s cracks until they’re shaking, begging for it. Z’ahzi isn’t begging, yet, but the hands in his hair scratching at his scalp says that’s he close, at least.

“Mm, no,” he breathes, nosing along the sharp edge of the Miqo’te’s hip, licking the strip of skin with the flat of his tongue, a huff of laughter bursting through his nose as the body beneath him tenses, muscles jumping. “I’m enjoying this.”

Z’ahzi sighs, head tilted back in surrender as his tail thumps, frustrated, against the sheets. 

Cent chuckles darkly under his breath again, eyes drawn to the other’s weeping cock lying flat against his abdomen. Something hot and heavy sits itself in his own, curling tighter as he trails a hand from sweat-slicked skin to gently, teasingly, trace his fingers up the underside. Z’ahzi hisses through clenched teeth, ears twitching atop his head and Cent positively coos with delight, watching with rapt attention as Z’ahzi drips pre steadily onto his stomach, thick and clear.

He’s easy. So, so easy.

It’s even better when he does it again, this time replacing fingers with his tongue, pressing a close-lipped kiss to the head of Z’ahzi’s cock as the Miqo’te whines beneath him, the hands in his hair beginning to shake as they curl, uncurl, curl again into the strands. Cent hums against him, a smirk growing at the corners of his mouth as Z’ahzi jolts, throwing his head and shoulders into the silken sheets of the bed and gasping out a pitched, warbly cry of his name.   
“Cent!” He breathes, the man in question answering by taking him in hand stroking slowly from base to tip. “Cent, please.” 

_Not yet,_ the pirate thinks, grip tightening for a moment before he lets go, delighting in the way the man beneath him squirms in frustration, in need. He’s expressive, this one, and for a moment Cent ponders if anyone knows this besides himself. Z’ahzi looked so regal, so pristine, standing at parade rest as he waited to greet him, diplomacy his end goal. Yet having him stripped and bare, aching against his touch, the Miqo’te obviously doesn’t know the word no.

A hand trails from his hair to his cheek, thumb running over the scar on the left. It’s reverent, soft, and Cent blinks once before glancing towards Z’ahzi’s eyes, breath caught as he watches them map out the touch, right then left, right then left, over and over again until the feeling of the scar disappears, replaced by Z’ahzi’s gentle worship.

_Worship._ Now that’s something he likes. ( And something he’s missed, too. )

Cent almost says as much, almost parts his lips on a snide remark, but then Z’ahzi’s hand slides to his bare chest, slow and attentive. It’s only once it reaches the center of his torso does the Miqo’te push, hard, Cent falling backwards against the sheets as the other takes his place between his legs.

It’s only a moment or two before a hot, wet mouth wraps itself around the head of his cock, plush and softened lips playing with the glans there. A hum, and now it’s him who’s tossing his head, short strands of his blonde hair falling out of place as sweat beads at his brow. Z’ahzi doesn’t waste time, opening his mouth wider and letting each inch by inch of Cent’s cock spear his throat, no pause or reprieve. The sudden realisation that he’s _done this before_ catches Cent by surprise, but not before the Miqo’te’s throat contracts, swallowing him down while lips touch the fine hairs at the base of his cock.

It’s enough to evoke a sharp, darkened growl from the depths of his chest, a strong hand finding its way to Z’ahzi’s loosened hair and wrapping the lengths of it around his fist. He lets the hand sit at the crown of his head, and only when Z’ahzi relents, beginning to pull away, does he pull him back down, _hard,_ reveling in both the Miqo’te’s moan and the slight gag he gives in response.

“Go on,” Cent purrs, each word accented with a flex of his palm. “You want me, don’t you? Show me how much, _Warrior of Light_.”

Z’ahzi blinks, fat droplets of tears at the corners of his eyes, before sliding hands to the jut of Cent’s hips, tapping once as his eyelids fall, lashes fluttering, and throat once again relaxing around him. 

A picture of submission, truly. Wanting to please and wanting to be used. Cent can work with this. Cent can _definitely_ work with this.

A tentative thrust up, a sly roll of his hips , and Z’ahzi groans around him again, tapping his thighs once, twice, as if to tell him _keep going._ Cent huffs a laugh, lips pulling up at the edges, and plants his feet against the bed, making sure the tops of his thighs press just so against Z’ahzi’s elbows, the back of his arms. Their skin sticks together, sweaty and golden, and the blonde pirate gives a teasing warning of _breathe for me_ before he goes, again, without pause.

The Miqo’te’s throat opens up so easily for him, the slide rough and smooth at the same time. The drag of his tongue feels sinful against his aching flesh, every slide in ending with hollowed cheeks and a spasm or two around him, pulling him in. Z’ahzi doesn’t give, doesn’t fight back, just moans on every thrust and lets his spit pool around his cock. The heat is overbearing, nearly suffocating, and Cent has to take a few shuttering gasps through heaving lungs to quell the urge to say _too much, too much, too much._

Instead, a slow-spreading grin touches his cheeks, free arm thrown beside his head as it twists the bedsheets, oceanic eyes half-lidded and lips parted on satisfied breaths. 

“Look at you,” Cent preens, tightening the grip in the other’s hair, some of the strands falling to frame Z’ahzi’s face, their ends triling against the inside of his thighs. “Taking me so well.”

Z’ahzi’s skin flushes, darkening first at the bridge of his nose and spreading to cheeks, then his neck. At the same time, a low rumble settles in the back of his throat, not truly against him but not far away, either. It sends gentle, low vibrations felt all the way to his chest; a pleasant sensation he could easily fall asleep to were it not for the ache in his abdomen, the precome he was steadily feeding the Miqo’te himself. 

“Can you do more for me?” Cent asks, knowing the answer already. Z’ahzi makes an affirmative hum against him, and Cent feels sharp spikes of heat wash down his spine. Another twist in blonde hair and Z’ahzi goes willingly, the other man guiding his mouth further and further down, heavy and hot like a weight as it pushes him forward, lips flush against the base of his cock for the second time that night. A sweet coo coated in put-upon sugar, Cent moving to hold himself up with the other arm.

“Swallow.” There isn’t anything _asking nicely_ in his voice this time.

Z’ahzi obeys, swallowing around him hard. There’s a sick noise, a half-aborted squelch of a gag, and it only serves to make Cent’s muscles jump, thighs bunching together and calves beginning to throb. The heat in his abdomen unfurls like a wildfire, swirling to his legs, his chest, his arms, his neck, he barely notices Z’ahzi had reopened his eyes, staring up through long lashes coated in tears and staring, intently, as he swallows a second time, a third.

A huff of air brushes against his overheated skin, and Cent tosses his head back, hips arching on their own accord at the pressure of the Miqo’te’s slick walls, throat working to keep him in a constant ebb and flow of _wet and loose_ and _hot and tight_. Brows creased together, the arm holding him up begins to shake, trembling as Z’ahzi pulls back only to come right back down, his nails scraping against him at his sides. Cent worries for a moment he’ll lose his glamour like this, hidden markings of gold ready to appear right where the other’s hands are exploring. And wouldn’t that be a story to tell? But the magic holds, and Cent narrows in on the creeping pressure in his stomach, the warmth seeping into every part of his person.

It’s slow, but soon he’s nearing his peak, Z’ahzi listening to every coo, every demand, every order. _Such a good boy,_ Cent thinks, gentling the hand in his hair and stroking through it, sliding to the side of the Miqo’te’s face and pressing, just so, against him. Like this, he can feel himself as he fucks into his mouth, feel the give to his cheeks as he all but succumbs to his every whim. If he were back home, Cent notes, Z’ahzi would have made an excellent servant - or bed warmer, that’s for sure.

Cent can’t hold back much longer, and instead of letting the fun end here, he lets his touch become harsher, stronger, a thumb pressing into the hinge of the other’s jaw until the Miqo’te can do nothing but pull away from his cock, panting while spit clings to them both. Hazy, yellow-ed eyes stare back, confused, and Cent tsks lightly, leaning forward until he towers over Z’ahzi, holding his face up. “Sorry dear, but I don’t think I want the fun to end.”

Z’ahzi whines as much as he can, groaning until the sound is cut off by a kiss. It’s surprisingly sweet, but soon Cent is licking into the corners of his mouth, tasting the faint traces of himself on the other’s tongue. He pushes and pushes, rearranging the both of them until the Miqo’te breaks away, turning on his hands and knees with a raspy, throat-worn breath of _I need you._

A calloused hand settles at the dip of his back, sliding to cup his ass. Z’ahzi groans, burying his face in the cool sheets as Cent reaches with the other for the vial the Miqo’te had placed on the nightstand prior. It’s small, but it’ll do, and as he spreads the oil against his fingers, Cent can only watch as Z’ahzi widens his stance, tail wrapping around his own thigh in anticipation.

What a sight he makes.

Wet fingers press inside with a barely audible _relax._ But if Cent were being honest, the first thrust inside him felt easy and slick, muscles tight but nothing a bit of stretching couldn’t fix. Z’ahzi, however, didn’t feel the same, pressing back against his fingers with a hurried gasp, breath rushing from his chest as he arched further into Cent’s touch. Whorish and shameless, Cent could only grin, giving the Miqo’te a sharp squeeze in retaliation; a message to be good; a promise he’d make this worth his while.

The tension in the other’s body droops, falling to the wayside as blonde ears press back against his head. He’s pouting, Cent notes, and instead of answering, presses in a second finger alongside the first. That gets Z’ahzi’s attention, walls fluttering around him and spine arching in shock before once again falling slack. It only takes a couple of exploratory touches, fingers spreading inside him, before Cent is satisfied he won’t hurt him. He isn’t small by any means, but this could be enough. Besides, any longer spent inside him like this and he’d spend the rest of the night fingering him till he came, pressing against all the right spots until Z’ahzi was shaking, begging for it to end while asking without words for _more, more, more._

It’s a good thought, but there’s something else he wants tonight. 

A guiding hand holds Z’ahzi steady, grip near white-knuckled at his side, as another sits loosely around the base of his cock. Time is almost nonexistent as Cent presses inside him, everything slowing down and focused on their point of contact. He’s hot, so hot, burning against his flushed and weeping cock, Cent’s abdomen clenching tight against the onslaught of it all. His grip grows bruising, nails digging into tanned skin, and the Miqo’te’s tail whips away from his thigh to wrap dangerously around his wrist there, grounding the two together.

Inch by inch, he pushes inside, the drag of barely-stretched muscle catching. Heavenly, he would say if he had to describe it, watching through clouded eyes as the other man beneath him hangs his head, cock leaking against silken sheets and jumping with every new slide inside. A roll of his hips, and Z’ahzi yelps, the sound morphing into a whine and tapering off at the end. He likes this, Cent realises. He _likes_ being beneath him.

Time picks back up again when hips meet thighs, cock sheathed completely inside. Z’ahzi takes a moment to flex his hands, which - as he hadn’t noticed before - were currently clawing at the bed, tendons stark with the force of his grasp. The sight has Cent’s blood boiling, and before he can help it, another coo passes his lips on a sigh, the hand on Z’ahzi’s hip now sliding through sweat-damp skin, tail instantly letting go the moment he moves, and landing, gently, at the nape of his neck.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you dear?”

“Yes.” Z’ahzi chokes out, whimpering the muffled answer into the sheets.

“How long were you thinking about it?”

“The city,” he gasps, picking his head up just enough for his voice to travel. “When we were in the city. Showing you the Admiral’s Office.”

That was a shock. “Mm. Go on. What made you want me?”

“Your hands,” Z’ahzi whines, pushing back against him. “They looked so - strong.”

The hand at his nape tightens and Z’ahzi howls, shaking in his grasp. 

“Oh, _honey._ ”

No pause, and Cent snaps his hips forward, the force of it knocking the breath from his lungs as Z’ahzi all but collapses, chest-first, into the bed. The pirate doesn’t let up this time, doesn’t so much as give him a chance to breathe, rolling forward with a constant rhythm. They’re deeper than he’d normally start out with, spreading the Miqo’te wider with each one. And with every press against his slicked walls, Z’ahzi grunts, soft whisper-like _uh, uh, uh_ ’s denoting each twist, each squeeze, of his hands in the sheets. 

He’s gorgeous, suspended in pleasure and wrung out. No matter what Cent gives him, Z’ahzi takes; a perfect servant, ready at his beck and call.

“Gorgeous,” he says, this time outloud, and Z’ahzi whimpers out a shaky, wet-sounding Cent.

The real prize, though, is when he hits his sweet spot, the Miqo’te’s face plastering itself into the sheets on a drawn out, muffled moan, far louder than the others. He can hear it plainly even with Z’ahzi’s face obscured, the muscles of his thighs trembling as he arches his back further, pushing against Cent’s thrusts as his walls spasm once, twice, his own untouched cock making a mess between them.

After what feels like a lifetime at sea, this is exactly what he needed.

Cent’s tactic changes then, legs shifting for more leverage as he leans over the willing body beneath him, mouthing around the hand at his neck as he thrusts harder, faster. Quick snaps, no longer focused on finding what feels best now knowing the answer. He wants to give Z’ahzi everything - make those lashes wet with tears again, voice cracking from pleasure. He wants to see how much it takes for the Warrior of Light to break, to fall apart at his hands, his mouth, his cock. Intoxicating as it is, he knows Z’ahzi could do it, too. He’s so willing, always wanting whatever Cent gives him. 

Such a good, good boy.

“Ce- _eee_ -nt,” Z’ahzi moans, turning his face sideways enough to look him in the eyes. The haze from before is back, his normally slitted pupils now blown wide. “Can I come?”

Asking. He’s _asking_ to come, asking for permission and Cent - Cent can’t tell him no. Not now.

His free hand, the one not currently at the back of Z’ahzi’s neck, reaches between them, curling beneath the other and wrapping tightly around his cock. It’s slick, wet with his want and burning with his need. Z’ahzi keens, a _thank you_ passing between them and Cent bites, _hard,_ on his skin, hips jack-hammering into his willing body as his hand speeds across his cock, stroking with intent; a twist to the head, a thumb swiping over his slit. Up and down, up and down, and Z’ahzi’s breath catches - Cent can _feel_ it from where he’s pressed against him. The Miqo’te is close, he knows, and Cent wants more than anything to watch this man fall apart.

“Come,” he breathes, listening to the sharp hisses of air as it wheezes past Z’ahzi’s raw throat, his swollen lips. “Come for me, dear.”

A toss of the head, a trembling whine, and a burst of air as the pressure finally snaps, white ropes of come decorating both Cent’s hand and the sheets below. It doesn’t stop him - In fact, his hand never loses pace, stroking Z’ahzi through his orgasm even when the Miqo’te shivers away from the touch, a soft, garbled _aah_ the only form of resistance. 

If Cent thought the drag of his walls against his cock was heavenly earlier, then this was certainly a whole new plane of existence.

Z’ahzi’s tight, ass clenching around him in a vice grip that sends blinding white lights bursting behind Cent’s eyes. Brows pinched and hips aching, he chases after his own orgasm with short, sloppy thrusts, panting against the bite mark from mere moments before. With every sound his fucked-out, beautiful partner makes, Cent feels the heat in his abdomen grow until, finally, he can’t help it anymore, the pressure too great and he - and he -

A blissful moment of suspense, the hand on Z’ahzi’s neck pushing him against the bed as Cent rears back, an explosive whimper tearing through his throat. He gives a half-hearted roll forwards, letting that heat and friction take his orgasm and run with it, feeling it drag on with every second he stays there, muscles relaxing in increments as sweat cools on their bodies.

The hand on Z’ahzi’s neck falls away, and the Miqo’te pushes himself up on shaking arms, turning to look over his shoulder.

Another kiss, tender; a slow reunion as their highs crash into each other.

And then Z’ahzi speaks, breath whispered between them and huffed across Cent’s lips.

“See you again tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for @windupninja on twitter!! i really, REALLY, enjoyed writing this piece and have fallen in love with Cent. no wonder this was so long!
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated! and if you're interested, check out my twitter @valistheas for more ffxiv and fics! any and all support is appreciated as i finish out my last semestre of undergrad! so close!!!
> 
> thank you all for reading !!! i look forward to your comments !!!


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